The Perfect Incarnation
by Xanthe Deluna
Summary: Well, it's back up *mumbles about authority* It's the same old Christopher Walken we all know and love, killing for his reward of blood.
1. The Perfect Revenge

What in the hell was I doing? 

For the hundredth time I asked myself that question. I drew my shawl closer around my shoulders and tightened my grip on Smoke's sturdy leather reigns. Not a sound issued from the cold darkness of the surrounding wood, but the moon- the glorious moon- lighted the leaf strewn path before me. My horse whinnied softly beneath me and shook his head, as if he too questioned my motives. I gently smoothed his mane and glanced up once more to regard the full moon. It became partially blocked by the swirling fog, and I shivered. Something inside me, however, caused me to plod on, regardless of the possible consequences. 

I brought Smoke to a halt and slid off the saddle, tethering him to a tree just off the main dirt path. Up ahead, ringed in moonlight and shrouded ominously in a cloud of thick fog, stood the Tree of the Dead. My mouth went dry as I craned my neck up to its disfigured apex. The Tree alone added a gloom to the small clearing, as well as a sense of apprehension and dread. 

I knew every inhabitant of Sleepy Hollow considered me queer. Indeed I often indulged myself with stories of myth and darkness. And it didn't help my mother had been accused of witchcraft when I was but eight. At that time I lived just outside New York. My father was a wealthy politician who loved my mother dearly. However, much riding on his public appearance and fearful of the Finger of the Church, he ultimately turned my mother over to authorities. I paused at the gnarled roots of the Tree, running my hand over the cold bark, careful to avoid the small crevices brimming with pools of blood. When my father discovered I had learned some of my mother's talents, he disowned me, still afraid of damage to his image. Ironically, his public was disgusted with his choice to disown me and his image fell hard. I learned, four years later, and from a taunting cousin, that he had killed himself a month after my departure to Sleepy Hollow. Indeed, he'd loved us very much. 

When I arrived at the Hollow I found it far from the rustic little town I'd imagined it to be. It was a dark, dirty place, where no secret was safe- and my little secret had arrived before me. The roads still were dirt, most of the time mud, and a cloud of fear and suspicion hung as continuously as the fog. My Aunt Sarah's house was a small thatch roofed place that she shared with her eight children- her husband had long ago left her and she was more the bitter for it. Immediately it was obvious I was little more than a nuisance. To her I wasn't a member of her family, I wasn't the only child of her only brother, I was a servant. I shared the barn with the horses where I at first spent most of my time. I learned to avoid Sarah at all cost, except to do her bidding. She'd leave whatever scraps for me in the mud in front of the barn. And I hated her for it. But I discovered I could get along well enough in Sleepy Hollow, especially when I found dark corners where the inhabitants did not care who you were or where you came from. These were the women who practiced the dark arts, white magic, and rituals of blood letting for comfort. I found acceptance among them, and it was there I finally heard the story of the Headless Horseman. Where the townsfolk whispered his tales as if terrified that the mere thought of his name would conjure him, the witches spoke reverently of him. He was referred to as the Perfect Incarnation. Where the townsfolk spoke of a headless killer, a vengeful witch, and a crazy constable who married "a queer girl, queer like her mother", the witches spoke of them like curiosities, or better, idols. And I fell in love with the story and dreamed of the dark seducing powers of the Perfect Incarnation, held fast in his Tree, its trunk stuffed with the heads of his doomed victims. 

Standing beneath it now, my fear slightly quelled, I allowed a smile. I had to see this man, this headless rider, in all his glory. I had to see the flash of his blade, hear the hiss of smoldering flesh. For all the years I'd been at Sleepy Hollow, this was the first time I'd worked up enough courage to approach the Tree. In all my wanderings of the Western Wood never had I dared follow the narrow horse path to the Tree. Now I knew I was ready. 

I bent down just away from the trunk, pulling wood from the pouch at my side and igniting a small flame. As it grew in its contained circle, I fingered the lock of hair in my pocket. The comforting smell of wood smoke rose up, and I felt warmed by even the small flame. Long ago, Archer had stolen the skull of the horseman and held it as a reward to be won by its owner, a prize to be given when her murderous plan was complete. But as the story went, Ichabod Crane exchanged the head with the Hessian for his love, the young Katrina, and the Hessian returned to Hell with Archer in his grasp. I felt my body grow hot as I recalled Archer's demise, when the horseman administered to her the Kiss of Death, his filed teeth grinding into the flesh of her mouth. I fancied his arousal from blood paralleled mine. 

In the moments before I began my incantation, a fresh wave of doubt washed over me. What if I had misjudged what excited the Hessian? What if my offering could not appease him? Would he kill me? Not that it would be such a loss, but the witches back in the Hollow were certain I could control him. They had even told me they had never met someone so strong such as myself. With a shuddering breath I began the incantation that would draw the Hessian from the grips of the Netherworld and into the mortal world. The woods grew still and silent. Was it my imagination, or did the fog that hung perpetually in the area, grow thicker and hug deeper? The smoke from the fire turned a repulsive green, and a stench arose from the Tree. Trembling, I glanced back at it. The roots were writhing, slowly pulling away from each other, creating a gap at the base. I could clearly see the heads, the flesh still as fresh as the day they were severed, the blood still oozing like a newly opened wound. I leapt to my feet as a rumbling issued from the Tree. The ground shook and my courage began to diminish. But turning back was too late- especially at the emergence of a hoof from the tangle of heads... 


	2. A Deal

In a rush, the rest of the horse followed, completing a great leap and stirring up leaves and fog in its wake. I could scare believe my eyes- that was Daredevil, and atop him was the Hessian. The still powerful mercenary swung the giant black beast around, trotting slowly back in my direction. And I couldn't tell which creature looked more fearsome. 

Daredevil towered above any other horse I'd ever laid eyes on, his eyes glowing red, steam shooting from his flared nostrils. He was a sleek creature, the muscles well defined from years of charging recklessly into battle. His hooves were weapons on their own, sharpened and covered in dried blood. He seemed to sneer at me, perhaps assuming his master would be quick to remove my head. 

Indeed Daredevil was an impressive creature, but nothing compared to his rider. Clothed in a torn collared cape, black leather armor more for show than protection, and knee high black boots complete with spurs, his figure seemed giant. No doubt under all the padding a well built warrior resided. While extremely pale in appearance, he looked healthy- especially for a dead man. His hair stood spiked on end, yet not unruly or disheveled. His lips, slightly parted, revealed a full set of sharpened teeth. His face was hard and extremely cruel, yet to me, strangely handsome. The stories flooded my mind, for indeed, they were all true. But it was the eyes I could not tear away from. Ice blue, a piercing icy blue, that seemed to burn straight through me. An involuntary shudder passed through me, and I pressed up against the side of the tree. Still astride Daredevil, the Hessian stared down at me, taking me in, reading through me, evaluating my purpose. I was no threat. In fact, I was no longer in control. I could call him, but I could not banish him. At that moment I realized my life was in his hands- I had previously never reckoned that. But still we stared each other down, not moving, not blinking, not breathing. Finally, my throat seizing up and my imagination telling me his hand was creeping ever closer to his hell forged blade, I blinked and glanced away. 

But when I turned back, I detected a change in his face. Amusement perhaps? 

"Well?" 

His voice startled me, to say the least. Gravely, rough, richly accented with German. I'd never heard tell of him speaking. 

"Hessian." Was my voice strong? I tried to make it so. I briefly pondered an introduction, but I assumed if the Hessian let me live long enough to ask it himself, I was home free. "Years ago, a foolish woman used you-" the horseman's eyes hardened so I rushed to my conclusion- "now I question, will you return to your duties? With your love of carnage, of blood, could you kill again?" 

The horse shuffled his feet and snorted, but his rider's face remained impassive. Was that a good sign? Dare I continue? 

And then he threw back his head and laughed. And it was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. I shrunk closer to the trunk of the Tree as the sound echoed off into the surrounding woodland. It was an unearthly sound- hollow, empty, more of a growl than anything human. Than again, the horseman wasn't quite human. 

"Do you recollect Archer's demise, madschen?" He's eyes caught the faint smile that came to my face they narrowed momentarily before he continued. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and then across his filed teeth. "Her blood..." He trailed off as if relishing the thought, his face half turned upwards. "Ihr Blut..." 

I steadied my breathing, trying to calm my madly beating heart. The very mention of blood...I swallowed hard. Calm down, I told myself angrily, don't let your lust overcome your sensibility. I rid myself of the support of the Tree and took a bold step forward. My fear was rapidly diminishing, all being quickly replaced by a far stronger urge: the urge to succumb to the seductive powers the Hessian held- if only I could draw them out of him. 

"I can offer you something I know you cannot resist..." 

The Hessian looked amused once more, as if he knew something I didn't. "Brave madschen, indeed," he growled, making a clucking noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "What pleasure could I receive in material possessions?" 

Suddenly he stiffened and took a deep breath, as if he could smell something. The horseman slid off the saddle and approached the Tree, still sniffing. He knelt down before the base of the Tree and wiped a gloved finger across one of the roots. He brought the finger to his mouth tentatively and then his tongue flicked out, tasting whatever coated the gloved finger. His head whipped around to me and he rose swiftly to his feet. His lips were parted again, his eyes glowing with a new ferocity. He reached out quickly and grabbed my wrist. His grip was strong, forceful. I liked it. Especially the sudden apprehension that rose in me. Obligingly, I opened my hand, revealing the still bleeding cut. 

"Eine Wunde." 

"Es ist nichts ernstliches," I almost replied, suddenly wondering why he was concerned. But he ignored me as his eyes lit up at the sight of my blood. He roughly ran his thumb over the wound, swabbing up the blood through the material. 

He tasted it and a terrible sneer came to his face. "Your blood..." 

I smiled and yanked my hand away. "Is irresistible to you, isn't it?" 

The Horseman let out a growl and grabbed for my hand, but I danced backwards, out of his way. 

He roared angrily. "Ich beende Sie!" 

"You wouldn't dare kill me," I said triumphantly, holding up my hand, palm towards him, showing him the blood tauntingly. "But you can have me, if you do as I ask!" 

I had him. In Hell, fresh blood wasn't an option. If he killed me, the blood would clot; he'd get far more with me alive. 

He reached out a hand again, longing for it, needing it. "Sehr gut." His eyes flashed angrily. He knew he was being used, and he hated it. "Who?"   
  
  
  



	3. His End Of the Bargain

I pulled the lock of hair out of the leather pouch and offered it to the Hessian. He snatched it from my grasp and brought it to his nose like a blood hound learning the scent. He flung the lock away from him and mounted Daredevil. He roared a challenge into the cold night air and the horse reared onto its hind legs, anxious for the chase it knew was at hand. 

I extinguished the flames as the pounding hooves receded on down the path, and then hurried over to Smoke. I loosed him from the tree and then sped after the horseman. By the time I reached the hill overlooking the Hollow, the Hessian had already dismounted. When he reached the front door, no doubt locked for the night, the mercenary swung his ax into it, splintering the fragile wood. He kicked in the remainder of the door and disappeared inside. In seconds, the house was in chaos. Screaming echoed into the night as my dark rider made his way through the house. I watched the window to my Aunt's room carefully. The glass shattered suddenly and Sarah leapt out onto the roof, brandishing a fire poker at the intruder hot in pursuit. She dropped to the ground, landing unsteadily on her feet and she whirled around to glance back at the roof. Unbeknownst to her, the horseman landed silently just behind her. Perhaps it was some sixth sense that warned her to turn. How I wished I could distinguish her features more clearly, no doubt terrified at the horror close at hand. I saw the glint of steel and then the distinct separation of body and head. 

The horseman twirled his ax skillfully and then tucked it away and scooped up the head. As if on cue, Daredevil trotted over to his master who swung onto the horse, prepared to return to me. He let out a roar of triumph and jabbed his spurs into the ribs of Daredevil. I smiled. Revenge was mine. 

Suddenly a gun shot rang out, loud and heavy in the suddenly still night, and the Hessian toppled backwards off his horse. My throat caught and I gripped Smoke's reigns harder, my eyes searching for the shooter. It was Tom, Sarah's eldest son, hanging out of the upper window, his shot gun trained on the still figure. All around, the Hollow was coming to life as the sleepy inhabitants peeked out their doors and windows, some armed, some not. 

The Hessian sat up abruptly and Tom emptied another shot into the mercenary. The horseman took the shot with no reaction and rose to his feet. Tom loosed round after round, but to no avail. The Hessian placed Sarah's head into an empty pouch on the horse's saddle and then turned his attention to the window. Tom had disappeared, no doubt in search of more munition. The night watchman, stirred from his slumber, was slowly approaching the rider, his lantern held high as he searched for discerning features. He stopped just short as realization dawned on him. 

But the Hessian swung around and slammed his ax handle into the watchman's chin, sending him flying backwards with considerable force. He landed senseless and the horseman scooped up the lantern, stalking into Sarah's house. For a while, nothing happened. I grew restless. Had the Hessian somehow been taken down? 

Then something inside exploded and the house went up in flames. On lookers gathered closer, but no one moved to extinguish the flames. My grin returned as Tom tore out of the upper window and tumbled off the steep side of the roof, his body consumed by flame. I could hear him hollering for help but at the appearance of the unscathed Hessian, everyone moved even farther from the home. 

Daredevil returned once more to his master and the mercenary swung up. The giant horse reared into the air, and spun a quick circle. The Hessian wasn't about to be taken surprise again. He snarled a challenge, but none of the inhabitants of Sleepy Hollow dared move. Satisfied, he cantered across the bridge and back towards the Tree. 

I turned Smoke around and made it to the Tree before my dark avenger did. I slid off and tethered my horse up once more. I waited at the base, but not for long. The horseman trotted slowly into the clearing. He stopped in front of me and pulled the head out of the sack, tossing it to me. I caught it, amazed at the cleanness of the cut. No blood except at the base where it had already clotted. I turned it in my hands to view the face, satisfied. Sarah's eyes and mouth were transfixed in a look of utter terror. I smiled. Indeed, revenge was sweet. 

When I heard the clank of spurs hitting the ground, it struck me I had my own end of the bargain to keep up. I looked up, and let the head drop from my hands. His lips parted into a grin and his teeth seemed sharper than ever. His eyes shone brighter as I let the shawl fall from my shoulders. He licked his lips hungrily. 

"Your turn." 


End file.
